


No Big Deal

by cmshaw



Category: due South
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-05-15
Updated: 2002-05-15
Packaged: 2017-10-21 12:16:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/225075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cmshaw/pseuds/cmshaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I mean my home," Kowalski said. "I moved out -- you moved out -- I mean, there's an apartment."</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Big Deal

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fox/gifts).



"So, Stanley--"

"Give it a rest already," Kowalski said, not looking up from where he'd slung himself into the desk chair.

Vecchio put one hand on the back of the chair and spun it around so that he and Kowalski were face to face. "Hey. Raymond. Let's grab the paperwork and get something to eat -- I'm starving."

Kowalski met his eyes at last, apparently still upset but willing to consider his peace offering. Vecchio put on his best smile (the one from the old days, the one he hadn't used much recently) and after a moment Kowalski sighed and nodded, relaxing out of his scowl. "Okay," he said. "Why don't we take it all home and order in?"

Vecchio shook his head. "No, not with my family all there--"

"I mean my home," Kowalski said. "I moved out -- you moved out -- I mean, there's an apartment. With no family there."

"Oh," Vecchio said. "Yeah, that's good." He stepped back to let Kowalski stand up and started gathering papers. It was weird to think that his life had been going on without him. Kowalski stacked a bunch of folders in his arms and led the way out of the building. "Where's my car?" Vecchio asked.

"There," Kowalski said, pointing. It was beautiful, but it was a beautiful Pontiac.

"What happened -- no, don't tell me. It blew up." Vecchio sighed.

"Uh, yeah." Kowalski had the grace to look ashamed. "Actually more like caught fire, but -- yeah."

Vecchio held out his free hand for the keys.

Kowalski gave him an incredulous look. "Like hell," he said. "Passenger side." He balanced his stack of folders on the top of the car to open Vecchio's door, then handed everything to him once he was settled.

It was a nice car. "GTO, huh," he said as Kowalski pulled out into traffic. "How many have you gone through?"

Kowalski patted the dashboard lovingly. "I've had this baby since me and Dad restored her when I was in high school."

"You're sure you were working with Fraser?" Vecchio said.

"Ha ha. Yes. He got it stolen by a voodoo priest on the run once." Kowalski scowled.

Vecchio leaned back in the seat and watched Kowalski drive. Kowalski wrapped his long hands around the steering wheel as though afraid it would run off and leave him, and his shoulders were too tense to touch the carseat behind him. Fingers drummed nervously against the wheel whenever they stopped for a light or a left turn, and when Kowalski pulled into a small parking lot behind a nondescript apartment building he took a deep breath before turning the engine off.

"Why did I move out, anyway?" Vecchio asked.

Kowalski shrugged and jerked his keys free roughly. "Come on, let's get inside," he said.

Vecchio balanced the stack of papers against his chest and got out, following Kowalski in the front door and up a flight of worn wooden stairs. "Did they say something to you? Because they didn't know it was you, you know. I never told them."

Kowalski shrugged again. The door of the apartment stuck; Kowalski knocked it open with his shoulder in a practiced move. "It just didn't feel right," he said. "This was better." He took the papers from Vecchio and led the way into the living room where he scattered everything across a nearly clean table.

"You could've lived there," Vecchio said.

"No, I could not, okay?" Kowalski snapped, spinning around to glare at Vecchio. "Not like that. They hate me."

This apartment had clearly seen better days, and those days probably predated the Capone Era. The faded green couch sagged underneath paint that was threatening to peel, and the cheerful touches like the brightly-colored rugs and the blinking strand of lights only made the rest of the place seem drabber. "They like you," Vecchio said.

"Sure, they like me now," Kowalski said, "but that's because they don't know me, all right? They don't know about you and me." Vecchio took a deep breath to argue -- how, he wasn't sure -- but Kowalski kept right on talking. "What, is this mocking your style again?"

"Jesus, Ray, would it kill you to live a little?" Vecchio snapped.

"I didn't want this job!" Kowalski yelled. "I didn't want to be you, I didn't want to live your life, and I certainly didn't want to dress like you!"

Vecchio blinked. "This is the stupidest thing we're ever had a fight about, isn't it?" he said.

"Yeah." Kowalski crossed his arms, glaring at him and panting a little.

Vecchio ran his fingers over the buttons on his vest. "You know, I do understand that not everyone can look as good as I do in these clothes."

"What, like a really sexy pimp?" Kowalski said, cracking a small smile.

"Better a pimp than a hooker," Vecchio responded. It was an old argument, relaxing in its familiarity and exciting in its promise.

Kowalski swayed a step closer. "You planning on pimping me out, Vecchio?" he asked.

Kowalski's cheek was rough under his fingers. "Only once I'm sure you're really, really good," Vecchio said, and he brushed his thumb across Kowalski's lower lip. "I have a reputation, you know."

"I'd heard that somewhere," Kowalski said, and he sucked the tip of Vecchio's thumb into his mouth, tongue teasing lightly against it. His eyes drooped closed.

"I'm going to make it damn good for you too," Vecchio promised, looking at Kowalski in his frayed old clothes and his ratty little apartment.

"Don't," Kowalski said, opening his eyes again. "Christ, you don't owe me anything. Don't go making this about us owing each other anything." He dropped to his knees and tugged at Vecchio's belt.

Vecchio thought about telling Kowalski to wait, to talk to him first -- but hadn't they both waited too long already? So long apart and it was easier to fight than fuck, it seemed. He rubbed his hands across Kowalski's spiked-up hair and moaned in the back of his throat as Kowalski's hot wet mouth engulfed his cock. God, he'd missed this: missed the eager little noises Kowalski made, missed the way he curled his tongue, missed the way he was too impatient to do more than open Vecchio's fly and push the fabric aside, missed the way Kowalski would just drop down and do this like it was no big deal.

The shaky crazy feeling in his balls said it was a big deal, it was a fucking huge deal, but he drew it out as long as he could. He made himself breathe deeply and evenly; he locked his knees and clung to Kowalski's shoulders when it got tough to stay upright; he swore rhythmically under his breath as he got closer to it. He lasted barely five minutes before coming in Kowalski's slick mouth, but he dragged out the pleasure as long as he could and shook all over as he came down from it.

Kowalski slung an arm around his waist and half-carried him over to the awful couch, which turned out to be surprisingly comfortable. Kowalski pulled him around until Vecchio was almost lying on top of him. He wrapped his arms around Vecchio. "Welcome home," he said.


End file.
